


Memento Mori

by backwards_wordsmith



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cataclysm, Gen, Gilneas, Invasion of Gilneas, M/M, Sylvanas Windrunner - Freeform, Worgen, rogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_wordsmith/pseuds/backwards_wordsmith
Summary: When given a choice between life and death, he chose life. Exactly what kind of life he chose remains to be seen. And what, exactly, gave him the right to make that choice in the first place?





	1. Gilneas

**Author's Note:**

> I am starting another fic. A mistake, most likely, but at least it'll be a fun one. (I hope.) Of course, it will eventually tie in with _Amadeus_. When can I ever make something that isn't somehow connected to _Amadeus_?

A near perpetual gloom hung over the highlands. It was only natural that the sea-storms came in with cold fronts and rain, and heavy thunderheads that could drop a lake’s worth of water in mere minutes. With it came the darkness of a sky unsure whether it wished to be night or day, dusk or dawn. The result was an artistic array of greys and blacks and the occasional rainbow lost in the gloom of Gilneas.

For a longtime citizen of the highlands, this thunderous gloom was the norm. It kept the farmlands rich with sea salt and water and a distinct lack of swarming insects; it kept the people indoors where the fire was hot and company was good.

It also allowed for covert transactions to take place in peace. No one with any claim to sanity would wander about in a Gilnean thunderstorm, especially the ones that wandered in from off shore. Not even the crocolisks in the mires would venture out in this weather. No, the only people who would step foot into the knee-high mud and torrential rain were the ones that had business best conducted out of sight, and out of mind.

Thaddeus Vauden was one with business of this sort, as was his temporary partner. Dunkirk was the name he used, and it was the only one that mattered to Thaddeus.

“Right bloody weather in damned country,” Dunkirk grumbled, digging about in the inner pockets of his waxed overcoat. It held off the rain, just barely, but his exposed head was sopping mere moments after he stepped out from under the decrepit old lean-to. Fishermen had once used it when they’d walked these shores. Now it was used for another sort of fishing. “You’d best have my payment - the last _good chap_ they sent down here came without, and he went without something just as important.”

The threat was clear. Thaddeus remained unmoved. “I’ve got it,” he said. “I’m no good chap, after all.”

“Good to know!” Dunkirk chuckled. He had a rough voice, the sort you’d get after spending too many years smoking and exposing your throat to knives. “Alright, alright, here we are.” He pulled a single wooden box from the inside of his coat. It was about the size of a child’s fist, tiny and easily hidden away in a pocket or a wide sleeve. Hence the reason it had gone missing in the first place. “It’s in there. A little bit worse for wear, but they’ll fix that up right, I’m sure. They damn well got the coin for it.”

Thaddeus held out his hand. Dunkirk shied away. “Show me it,” Thaddeus said, hardly keeping his own voice from snapping out like a whip in a jailer’s hand. 

Dunkirk opened the box and flashed its contents at Thaddeus. “The coin, now,” he snarled. “I ain’t no fool.”

“Neither am I,” Thaddeus said. “I always pay. What good would you be without loyalty?”

“Not any good to you, but to your enemies, mind, I might be.” Dunkirk only smiled when the small sack was in his hand. He gave it a toss, delighted at the weight and the sound of coins clinking prettily, and let Thaddeus take the box. “A good day to do business with you, buck,” he said, chuckling as he stuffed the bag into a hidden pocket that was obviously too small for its contents.

Thaddeus opened the tiny box only briefly, only to ensure that the promised contents were indeed within. Seeing that Dunkirk hadn’t lied about his abilities, nor had he lied about the sorry state of his target, Thaddeus sighed through his nose and tucked the box away somewhere safe. “A good night to you, then, Dunkirk,” he said.

“And to you, old buck. Next time you want to pay out for some rich wanker’s little trophy, you keep me in mind. I don’t know how you can stand all that. Must be paying you a pretty few pennies, eh?”

“Something like that,” Thaddeus said. He tucked the edges of his hood under his chin, and turned to leave.

“You keep me in mind, now! I love getting paid!” Dunkirk called after him.

The lands of Gilneas were not meant for those looking for an easy living. They were hard, rocky, with barely enough farmable land to sustain the meager population within. But they were self-sufficient, and gave you what you needed to survive. Anything beyond that would take blood and sweat, something any good Gilnean knew how to give. Tears were unnecessary, and rarely given. Gilneas was a hard country, its citizens made to match it. But Gilnean roses bloomed in cracked stone and their roots would dig bedrock to dust in a matter of months.

Thaddeus only reached the city by dawn. It was hardly distinguishable from dusk, most days, but today the rain had cleaned the air for a few hours and a glorious rainbow bent its back over Gilneas. The near-black clouds would return soon enough, but for now the sun cut through the sea-fog and ravens took to the skies, shaking the water from their wings and cawing loud enough to cover the city in brackish noise.

He didn’t stop moving, not when he reached the city, and certainly not when the people within started to wake. They’d be moving about, opening shops or heading to the small factories that produced just enough to supply the city’s population with clocks or furniture or clothes. No one would look at Thaddeus oddly. He was dressed the same as they, groomed the same, painted in the same dull browns and greys and sturdy leather boots.

In an old habit, a leftover from his younger days, Thaddeus played absently with the two golden loops in his left earlobe. One was dented slightly, the bottom of it flat from when he’d spent some nights on a wooden floor in a ship. Not by his own choice, mind. But those days were gone, now, replaced with more comfortable beds and less sea-sickness.

The four quarters of Gilneas moved at different speeds, and Thaddeus could match himself easily to any one of them. He’d approached from the North, to throw off Dunkirk if he’d gotten it in his head to follow Thaddeus. That meant he had to get through the Merchant Square, first. The crowds within, already forming in the rare sunny morning, would mask him better than any cloak. He stopped at a fruit stall, purchased a half-basket of arterial cherries, and ate them as he strolled through the district. He took a few odd turns, here and there, just in case. Always, just in case.

Spitting out cherry pits as he went, he took a stroll through the Cathedral Quarter. It was mostly open field with hip-high walls, and anyone who tried to follow him would either lose sight of him between districts or run the high risk of being spotted. Either by him, or by a priest or passerby spotting some oaf squatting behind the walls.

The Greymane Court was not welcoming when he reached it. That wasn’t new. It wasn’t meant to be welcoming, not even to its own gentry. Much like the Greymane Wall, the court kept out most people by virtue of its existence. When you looked at the court from without, you didn’t want to go inside. That was the point.

Thaddeus, however, had business within. He climbed stairs and slipped through alleys and batted a few wandering hands away from his pockets. He let one of the smaller ones take the handful of cherries left in his basket and tossed the little wooden contraption to a mutt tied to its owner’s carriage.

The Greymane Court was connected by a long stretch of road to the Greymane Manor. It was off on the western coast, far away and disconnected from its people, just as Gilneas was disconnected from the other kingdoms. Hidden away by mountains and afforded a view of the entire countryside, and the waters below, it was secure and lonely and perfect for stargazing.

It was at this point that Thaddeus could have reasonably handed off the box to one of his contacts in service of the Greymanes. He’d been out all night, collected the package himself and safely brought it to the court. He could easily justify handing it off to an agent or flash his insignia to a city constable and entrust it to them. But it wasn’t in his nature to leave until the job was finished, as was known by those whose necks had met his knife.

No, Thaddeus would find a carriage or cart on its way out of the city. He’d pay a ride out to the countryside, likely in a shepherd’s grazing land, and make his way to the manor by foot. It wasn’t the longest he’d walked, not by far. And when he got there he could hand off this stupid ring. It’d taken him four months to find, and he understood that it was a family heirloom, but it was a single ring. The filigreed gold ring could be replaced easily by the Greymane family, and the actual construction clearly hadn’t taken any special skill. It was simply a matter of pride to be able to retrieve such a simple token at such high costs.

Making the decision was relatively easy. It took a simple step towards the court gates, and Thaddeus was on his way. He’d already fished a few silver out of his pocket, more than enough to pay room for a single man on a cart to the western mountains. Three liveried city constables rushing past him, to something behind him, made him slow his steps. The ten that followed made him pause.

Something that big merited investigation, or at least witnessing. He had a sordid past, but his present service to the Greymane House could carry a lot of weight, and if one of the junior agents had misstepped he may be able to save them from the shackles. Depending, of course, on the misstep itself. He wasn’t about to stretch his neck out for a rookie. Maybe a pinkie. Or a few toes. Something minor, easily forgotten, just as he was.

The source of the ruckus and the simply excessive jumble of constables was a single body in the canal between the court and the Military District. A dead body in Gilneas wasn’t an unusual sight. People got sick, people got into scuffs, people got drunk and tripped and drowned. There must have been something else, something strange, something upsetting. Thaddeus slipped through the crowds forming around the canal and the footbridge, barely held in check by the constables.

“Hold!” one ordered gruffly, hand out to stop Thaddeus’ approach. He pulled his signet from his pocket, in the place where one’s pocket watch would normally rest, and showed it briefly to the constable. His reply was a sneer, but the constable let him pass.

“Right strange,” Thaddeus heard as he carefully stepped down the slanted side of the canal.

“Never seen anything like it…”

The body was that of a young man, perhaps not much younger that Thaddeus. It was fresh, too. It had yet to bloat or pale. If he had to guess, at a glance Thaddeus would say the lad had had too much ale, tripped over his own untied shoes, and taken a long bath facedown in the canal. But Thaddeus never relied on mere glances. He stepped forward, and tugged the young dead man’s sodden coat down from where it had fallen over his head.

One constable immediately retched and turned away, nearly vomiting into the canal. Another turned away, his face bloodless. Thaddeus’ brow furrowed.

The back of the man’s neck had been ravaged. That section of his spine was missing, as was most of the flesh. His head was only connected by a few thin strips of muscle, and the skin over his throat. The inside of his throat was visible. Thaddeus’ mouth felt dry. 

“Some kind of animal?” Thaddeus looked up. An inspector had arrived on scene, along with two inspectors.

“Must have been rabid, to come this far into the city,” one of the inspectors said. Short and thin as a whipcord, he stepped past the constable barricade like he was draft horse, nearly knocking Thaddeus aside in his rush to see the body. His partner, taller than him but not much thicker, followed behind.

“You’re joking,” she said. “Look at that! What kind of animal has jaws that wide that’s anywhere near the city?”

“Crocolisks wander up all the time.”

“They don’t go for the neck. They go for legs and knees.”

Thaddeus tuned them out. The nature of the wound, clearly what had killed the poor lad, was what worried him. If there was an animal loose in the city, it would have to be quite large and quite powerful. And not at all hungry. It hadn’t eaten anything aside from what it’d bitten off to kill the lad. Anything that killed not out of hunger, but for pleasure, was dangerous.

It would have to be brought to Greymane’s attention. This kind of thing was quite serious. Thaddeus would bring it to Queen Mia, perhaps, or Miss Tess. Or Liam, if he saw him first. But he had to reach the manor before he could tell anyone. He knew the city constables would keep it quiet, try to solve it themselves out of pride. But his gut told him this was out of their capabilities, and might certainly require a more delicate touch than what was afforded their clumsy education. Not that his was much better.

Most of the people in the Military District had been drawn inwards - not that there was ever that many citizens about. Most were at least peripherally connected to the city constabulary or the meager military presence in Gilneas. Or even, if they were lucky, the Gilnean Royal Guard. Thaddeus had an easy time hurrying back to the Greymane Court.

He stopped halfway to the other district. There was a lump sticking out under the footbridge that bent over the canal between the District and the Court. Another body.

“Constables!” Thaddeus cried. “Constables! I need a hand!”

A single constable strolled into sight from an alleyway. “What is it, now, why are we yelling this early in the morning…”

“There’s a body under the footbridge,” Thaddeus told him. “They just found one between the District and the Square, too. Look at it.”

“Probably some lush,” the constable grumbled, but his boots scraped their way down the cobbled side of the canal and he yanked at the body. He yelped and dropped it almost immediately. “Blasted animals!” he growled, shaking off his armored hand like it would help. Thaddeus leaned forward, looking over the constable’s shoulders.

This body looked to be a woman, perhaps forty, face-down in the water. Her neck had been mangled, none of the flesh consumed. Bite marks littered her right arm, exposed from the shoulder down. Something had viciously torn off her sleeve. She was also missing her right shoe and the sock was torn under her foot. She’d tried to run, lost her shoe, been caught, and torn up.

“This ain’t good,” the constable warned. “This really ain’t good.”


	2. Greymane Manor

Gilneas had been shut off from the world for a good numbers of years, long enough that most people had forgotten the exact number. Some hadn’t ever even learned the reason for their solitude. Now, though, the city itself was on lockdown.

After the two bodies had been found face-down in canals around the Military District, they’d shut the entire District down. The constabulary had set up blockades on the roads and alleys, enforced a strict curfew, and dragged in what few military bodies lay outside the city to aid with security. Obviously there was an animal afoot, a dangerous one that might be beyond their means to hunt. That was, at least, something they were willing to admit.

This, however, made it very difficult for Thaddeus to move about unseen. He was long practiced in the art of disappearing, but there were just _so many people_ in the District that he couldn’t take three steps without bumping into a badge. Or worse. In the last hour alone he’d had to pull out his insignia about eight times. Twice to the same damn soldier.

And every time he tried to get through the blockades, they turned him back. It didn’t matter what business he had, he was in the District and he was going to stay there until they had the situation under control. It wasn’t like he was a suspect - he didn’t have the jaws to bite someone’s neck off. But the constabulary hated dealing with panicked civilians, so instead they ordered them all to shut up in their homes. Even though Gilneans rarely panicked, let along at a single hungry animal, no matter the size or relative sanity.

It had come down to this solely because Thaddeus was convinced that this wasn’t a single rabid animal, that it wasn’t going to get worse before it got better because it _wasn’t_ going to get better. Something was making him very nervous about the whole thing, and though his education had been… subpar, he knew one thing: always trust your gut. 

It had come down to this solely because of his gut. Thaddeus could feel the cold sweat on his forehead. Not from the guards, or even the soldiers. He knew he could outrun them, and he’d knew these streets better than they did. No, it was from the torn necks. Some predator was loose in Gilneas, and it was sapient enough to hunt without hunger. Thaddeus didn’t want to imagine what it could be. He only knew it was dangerous, and if the constabulary wasn’t going to send a report to the Greymanes, he would bring it to them.

The canals were not his favourite part of the city, but if you had to move about unseen they were your best option. People rarely looked at them. Sometimes full of trash, mostly empty of fish or anything useable, they held little interest for anyone with better options. Which was why they were ideal for his purposes.

He’d tied loose building bricks to his feet to keep him underwater. Perhaps not the safest option, as he might have need of his feet soon, but it worked. He’d found a long smoking pipe to use as a breathing tube. It just barely breached the water. Thank the Light today wasn’t too windy or he’d be swallowing more water than air. Not elegant, perhaps, but effective.

Now, he could slowly drag himself through the canals, nervous as all get out that he’d hit a gap in the ground and fall and drown. Or the pipe would leak and he’d be stuck with bricks on his boots until, again, he drowned. Or a crow would take the pipe. Damn feathered vermin.

Thaddeus swallowed thickly. Now or never. He had to remind himself of the debt he owed the Greymanes before he could force himself to get into the water. He also had to convince himself that doing this was beneficial to the Greymanes. Sitting on the smoothed walls of the canal out of the Military District, Thaddeus sighed. Oh, the things you’d do to get a debt off your back…

He let himself slide down into the water, and straightened fully. At their deepest, the main canals were just under six feet. He could barely keep the pipe above water, and that was only if he didn’t bend his legs. He had to resort to awkward, slow shuffling. Already he could feel the cold biting him. He’d get sick from this. He just knew it. But it would be worth it. It would have to be worth it.

Besides, it had been a long time since he’d had reason to visit the manor. The thoughts of the warmth within the cold stone walls distracted him from the filth within the canals, easily permeating his clothes and probably his very flesh. He’d need a few good scrubs after this, and likely an exorcism too.

Oh, the manor was a lovely place. Perhaps not if you were a southerner - no, they hated the cold, if he recalled right. Even before the wall had gone up, Gilneas had never been popular for tourists. No, it wasn’t meant for the weak-willed or faint of heart. The Greymane Manor exemplified that. It was upright, stately and proud, cold stone and stubborn wood. Many generations had lived and died there, and you could feel the weight of them as you walked those imposing halls.

But you could enter nearly any room and escape that press of memory and courtly law. Nearly each had its own hearth, or a hearth adjacent to it, and comfortable furniture that wore their marks of usage with pride. The walls were a deep red, or brown or orange or umber, sometimes with lilac accents or bright splashes of paintings gifted to the Greymanes in some earlier era.

For Thaddeus, the most wonderful room in that entire manor was the great chamber. It was well-lit, decorated with all manner of heirlooms and old armor and weaponry and hunting keepsakes, rich tapestries of Gilneas’ history and legends, sturdy old oak tables and well-padded chairs. At the far end of the chamber was a massive hearth, often with pine needles and lavender and incense burning within or above. The entire chamber would smell wonderful, a mix of memory and fresh food. You could host an entire Court in that chamber. Or, as the Greymanes often did, just a few chosen guests. A handful of distinguished constables, or soldiers, or officers, or a few nobles here and there.

A few times, Thaddeus had been guest to the Greymanes. Most of his time spent in their manor was for official business, but he’d been invited to dine with them or stay the night before departing on a job. Though Greymane was gruff, aloof, Queen Mia was kind and warm as the hearth in the great chamber, and Miss Tess’ eyes sparkled mischievously, and Liam was… Well, Liam was all of these things and more. 

Thaddeus had to admit he was fond of Liam in particular, least of all from the time he’d spent at Liam’s side as a bodyguard. Or, he recalled, those nights he’d spent a few summers ago teaching Liam how to shank people in a bar fight. A smile crooked his lips, even though he was still underwater and risked getting it in his mouth. Liam had picked it up pretty quickly, actually. Though he’d been reluctant to use less conventional weapons, such as broken booze bottles for knives or wooden ale mugs as bludgeons. Hopefully he’d never get himself into a situation where he would need that sort of thing. Hopefully, Thaddeus would at least be there to back him up.

The canal floor sloped upwards, briefly, and Thaddeus had to kneel with his head bent backwards to breathe. He managed, somehow, and when the ground sloped down he started to count his steps. He’d soon be around the bend and out of sight of those patrolling tinned chicken-meats.

He was already numb by this point, and when he was willing to emerge from the water under a footbridge he was shivering madly, his jaws aching from his chattering teeth. He’d lift a bottle of scotch from the liquor store down McKibbon Alley and snatch some sap’s cloak from a bench, and he’d be okay until he reached the manor. He had to pull himself out of the water, first.

It was a struggle. Thaddeus managed, as he always did, and let the bricks sink to the bottom of the canal. They’d turn to dust soon enough in that rancid stuff. He shrugged off his coat, regretting the loss of such a nice piece - waxed, even! - and his tunic, and frowned resolutely when he realized his boots would squelch with each step. Well, he’d been meaning to practice his stealth, anyway. As long as his hands were quicker than their eyes, he’d be okay. You could accuse someone of theft but if it wasn’t obviously on them you’d have to call a constable over to pat them down. And they were almost to a man occupied in the Military District.

McKibbon Alley had plenty of shops to choose from, though most liquor stores didn’t open this early. The bars, however, often had their most loyal patrons featured out front on a comfortable iron bench, and sometimes these patrons were outfitted with half-full bottles of liquor or spirits. Most of them were so calm and assured that they didn’t even have their eyes open until midday. Thaddeus found one such fellow, gave his bottle a sniff, and shrugged. It would do.

He sipped it as he walked, and the fire whiskey warmed his insides even if his skin was still icy and his nose might’ve already fallen off. Gilneas was nothing if not cold, and sometimes even the sun couldn’t warm them. But it was the insides that mattered most. At least, Thaddeus hoped. Liam, he imagined, would be awfully disappointed to see his nostrils past his missing nose.

Thaddeus shrugged, half to shake off the thought and half to try and get his blood flowing again. It was near frozen in its veins. The fire whiskey helped, despite its rancid, cheap taste. But in a pinch, it worked.

And, miracle of Light, the bastard had a nice coat, too. Not waxed, and a little muddy at the hems, but it was about the right size for Thaddeus. “Thanks, mate,” he mumbled, throwing it around his shivering shoulders.

His original plan seemed best, now. Find a carriage to the highlands and pay for silence on top. He still had enough silver to buy off a farmer or three, and the horse if they insisted. But he had to actually _find_ one of these carriages, first. Or even a hay cart. He’d ride out with the undertaker if he had to.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. A farmer and his son were heading out of the city, early morning, to return home. The storm the night before had prevented them from leaving, and they were eager to be home. Thaddeus would share the sentiment, if he had a home. He paid them four silver to ride in the back of their cart, on top of a single small hay bale and some old rags that had perhaps once been blankets.

He didn’t sleep. Far too cold for that - if he slept, he might not wake. Instead he huddle against the bale, dragged the raggedy blankets around him, and tucked his head down below. If he didn’t lose his nose he’d lose a damn ear.

He tried not to let the howling in the distance get to him. He was already shivering. It was just the wind, anyway. The wind did strange things in Gilneas. Sometimes it sounded like a man screaming for help.

“Did you hear that?” the farmer’s son asked.

“No, and you didn’t either,” he replied firmly. Sometimes that was for the best, outside the city. The wind did strange things, certainly. But strange things did horrible things if you looked too closely at them.

The ride was bumpy, and less than pleasant, and Thaddeus nearly wet himself from the ache in his lower belly. It was cold, and he’d drank half a bottle of fire whiskey, and it would warm him up but it’d be a poor way to see Liam if Thaddeus came out of the cold stinking of urine and cheap whiskey and canal water. The cheap whiskey was bad enough on its own.

The farmers stopped, Thaddeus estimated, about two miles from the manor. He thanked them, slid stiffly from the back of the cart, and watched them go down a Light-forsaken path through a forest darker than sin. “Light keep you sorry bastards,” he murmured, and then he pulled his coat tight around himself, shuffling the collar higher over his ears. He still had a ways to go. And his boots were still wet, and he had to shit now too, and he was starved like a wolf, and cold, and not at all happy with any of it. But he was already out in the middle of the world’s ass. He only had one path to take, and it went up, and up, and up. And up.

Thaddeus scowled. Damn mountains.

The only thing left to do was walk, and so he walked. Plodded along, one foot in front of the other, shaking and occasionally tripping over this unpaved road. He thought about the great chamber, and teaching Liam how to stab people in the kidney with a broken beer bottle, and about the second earring Liam had given him to replace the dented one and the hole Thaddeus had clumsily punched in his own ear for it, because two was always better than one. Unless the one was Thaddeus, then he was better off on his own. Unless the second was Liam. Bastard was clever.

Thaddeus lost track of time, and lost count of his steps more than once. It was when the path veered sharply to the right that he actually looked up. And up, and up, and up, of course.

Above him, seemingly precarious on its mountain bed, the Greymane Manor sat imposing and dark. But Thaddeus could see the light in the windows, flickering, too strong to be candles. They would have lit the hearths sometime yesterday afternoon to fight the humidity, and then kept them burning strong against the chill. The chill much like the one that had wormed its way down Thaddeus’ spine all the way to his numbed arse, and then into his skin and muscles like it was trying to play his ribs like a xylophone. And not one of the nice ones, no - one of those little ones for clumsy children whose parents were desperate for some form of creativity.

He still had to climb that last bit, and Thaddeus was thankfully too stubborn to ever give up, even when he was actually supposed to give something up. Or someone, he mused as he climbed what amounted, at that moment, to a sheer rocky cliff. At least there wasn’t any canal water at the bottom. He could still feel it crawling about on his skin.

It felt like it took longer to climb that last bit than it did to get to this point from the city. Thaddeus nearly wet himself in relief when someone answered the door. Actually, he would’ve nearly wet himself anyway.

“I need to piss,” he said in a rush. “Also I’m cold. And hungry.”

“Who _are_ you?” the servant asked, face completely askew in his attempt to understand this stinking mess of a man that had shown up an hour past dawn on his king’s own doorstep.

“Thaddeus Vauden.” He flashed his insignia, and the servant’s face cleared.

“Of course. I’ll take your coat. Closest bathroom is down the first stairs.” Obviously in a rush to get away from Thaddeus. Sometimes agents made people nervous. Especially people near the royal family. There was always dirt to be found, and dirt was so much… dirtier when it was plated next to a ruby encrusted gold goblet filled with red wine that went for three thousand gold a barrel. Warehouse pricing, even.

Relieved to have been able to safely relieve himself, Thaddeus took his time washing his hands, arms, and face. He managed to get some of the wetness out of his clothes with the towels they kept in the bathroom. They’d be rags soon, he imagined. Still, they did their duty, leaving him only unpleasantly damp instead of soaked like a drowned rat. He was a fair deal more handsome than the rat, he imagined. At least, he liked to think so. There must be someone in Gilneas who’d agree. Maybe he’d fish for compliments from Miss Tess. She always indulged him, that same mischievous sparkle in her eye. She was a good deal more friendly than her father, and her wit bit deep. Thaddeus genuinely liked Miss Tess. A rare deal, to have a rogue like him actually _like_ a noble.

Returning upstairs, and trying not to leave muddy bootprints on the carpet, Thaddeus was met with a different servant. Much older. Possibly the steward. Yes, by the look on his face it was the steward.

“I have business here,” Thaddeus said, on the defensive. That look always did that to him.

“Yes, I’ve heard. King Greymane is occupied at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll speak with Her Majesty, then.”

“Occupied.”

“Princess Tess?”

“Also occupied, I’m afraid.”

“I need to speak to one of them immediately,” Thaddeus said, mentally squaring his shoulders. He wasn’t a rat anymore. He was an agent of the house of Greymane, whatever fortune that might bring him. And he had business to bring to their attention. “Where is Prince Liam?”

“He is…”

“Occupied?” Thaddeus sneered.

“No, actually, I was going to say he’s taking breakfast in the great chamber,” the steward said. He seemed satisfied to have caught Thaddeus being assumptuous and rude. Thaddeus didn’t really care.

“Thanks.” He brushed past the steward - Light, he really should learn the man’s name one of these days - and found his way easily to the great chamber. It wasn’t loud this time of day, but there was some conversation, maybe some cousins of the Greymanes brought to visit or some chatting servants cleaning up. They weren’t shy with Liam. He was too boisterous and friendly for anyone to be shy with him. He was like the sun to a sunflower. You couldn’t help but look at him, open up when he was around.

“Liam,” Thaddeus greeted, sitting down next to the prince. He had perhaps yanked the chair a bit hard, but Liam hardly even noticed that he was soaking wet, let alone the complaint the chair had given.

“Thad!” Liam crowed, immediately abandoning his food to lean over and embrace Thaddeus with both arms wrapped firmly around him. “Mate, it’s been ages! Where’ve you been? Out on business,” he said, imitating his father’s officious voice. “Bugger that. Have some breakfast!” Liam pulled a platter - a damned _platter_ \- of food towards Thaddeus. Unabashed, he reached with his hands for a banger and a handful of fried potato wedges. “That’s right,” Liam laughed, pouring a glass of what seemed like orange juice. “Don’t choke, mate! The plate’s too heavy to run with, it’s not going anywhere.”

Thaddeus nearly choked on his laughter, but he managed to get the first two fistfuls of food down. The orange juice helped. It had something berry in it, too, actually. Very nice and refreshing. “I’ve got something for you, actually,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants. They were already tainted. He’d burn them now if he thought the fire wouldn’t protest. “Two bodies, on either side of the Military District. Torn up bad by some great animal. Constabulary’s not reaching out past the city’s outer borders. They brought in a regiment from Emberstone and locked the District down with curfews, but that’s it. I had to swim out.”

“I can see that,” Liam said, his brow furrowing. “Harriet! Get him some fresh clothes. The man’s about frozen solid.”

“Sure thing,” Harriet said brightly. Thaddeus had no idea what Harriet looked like, as he was too busy waiting for Liam’s attention to return.

“You alright, then?” he said, his voice softening.

“I’m not bleeding,” Thaddeus replied.

“Right.” Liam looked eerily like his father when he wore that expression. Except about forty years younger. Maybe more. At this point, it looked like Greymane had stopped aging. He’d never die out, just retire to a back room somewhere, maybe his observatory. He’d bitch and moan all day and they’d shut him up with some of that fuck-off fancy wine he liked so much. “Two bodies. Animal. It happens.”

“Not like this,” Thaddeus insisted. “This animal wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t hunting, really. It killed these people. Brutally, mind. And then left them in the canal. Not even in the water, or hidden away like a wolf does to a fawn. Nope. Tore out the back of their neck, one of the bodies got bitten down the arm, but nothing eaten.”

“So, what?” Liam asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Something’s off about this,” Thaddeus said, lowering his voice and leaning in. Liam had to realize how serious he was. “Really off. I don’t know exactly what it is, but…”

“Liam.”

That one word was enough to interrupt their meals and their conversation, make Liam straighten in his seat, make Thaddeus curl in just enough to hide in the massive padded chair he’d taken. Even the hearth fire seemed to straighten its back and crackle more uniformly. 

“I’d heard we’d found an unexpected guest outside.” Greymane lay a hand on the back of Liam’s chair. “I learned this visit wasn’t a social one.” He looked down at Liam, not fondly but not really… not fondly. Thaddeus really had to expand his vocabulary one of these days if he was to impress anyone around here.

“M’lord,” he greeted, keeping his eyes down, away from Greymane. “I came here straight from the city.”

“It’s barely past dawn. I gathered as much. Come.”

Thaddeus stood to follow immediately. Liam grabbed his wrist. “Come find me after,” he whispered. “I want to hear this.”

“I will,” Thaddeus whispered back. Liam’s hand was blessedly hot on his still-cold wrist. He regretted slipping away. But Greymane was already a few steps ahead and Thaddeus had to keep pace.

Still, he was reluctant to leave the great chamber. It was so warm, so open, so secure in its pride as the house’s heart. And there was food there. Liam, too. Thaddeus had been glad to see Liam before Greymane. Liam always made him feel a bit more courageous. The man’s smile was infectious.


	3. Chapter 3

Thaddeus had few regrets in his life because he was still quite young. Willingly being alone with Greymane would probably end up being one of them.

Genn Greymane had always found him… unfavorable. Thaddeus had been an escaped ship rat picked up by the Secret Service after a little scuffle in a corner store. He was uneducated, dirt poor without the support of the Service, relatively limited in skill, and certainly not a member of high society. Or, for that fact, middle society. He was the table scraps of the lower society, to be quite honest.

Thaddeus was used to it, and hardly let it bother him. Many people in Gilneas were poor, or uneducated, especially when compared to the Greymanes and their ilk. Thaddeus just happened to lack a family to put his name to. Vauden, to be honest, was something he’d picked off a shipping crate on his way out of the docks. It was that, he thought, that Greymane really took issue with. Name was everything with nobs like them.

The issue might have also been that Thaddeus currently stank of canal rot and cheap booze and fruit juice. Light, he wished he’d had time to eat another sausage before Greymane had shown up. His stomach was already nibbling at his spine after the first one proved to be little more than a distraction.

Greymane was hardly sympathetic. He had a slight sneer on his rocky face, revulsion and some kind of nausea flaring his nostrils. His heavy brow hardly made him handsome.

“M’lord,” Thaddeus said. He hid the shake in his hands by clasping them behind his back as he bowed at the waist. He knew, at least, what a proper bow looked like. Pulling it off was another matter, but at least he tried. “I have something of importance to report.”

“Then report it,” Greymane said dryly through a clenched jaw.

“Two bodies in the canals found within minutes of each other,” Thaddeus started.

“And you think this is worth my attention?” Greymane said dryly. “Hardly. Is this what they teach my Service? To waste my time?”

“Apologies, M’lord, but there’s more,” Thaddeus rushed to say. “The bodies bear no signs of struggle, and the back of the necks has been torn out by a predator at least as large as a crocolisk. I couldn’t identify the bite marks.”

“Then leave it to the constabulary,” Greymane growled. “You waste my time.”

“The predator did not hunt to eat, M’lord,” Thaddeus continued before Greymane was even finished speaking.

“You interrupt me again, boy, and you will not like the consequences,” Greymane said with a snarl on his face.

“The city is on lockdown,” Thaddeus said, no longer able to hide the shake in his hands or the one in his voice. Greymane had a habit of making him feel small. Unnecessary. He disliked the feeling immensely. It meant he was disposable. “The constabulary does not have any leads.”

Greymane was silent. Thaddeus dared to raise his gaze. He regretted it - Greymane’s face was a stormcloud. He made Thaddeus feel like a right skive, like he had less use than a broken bottle in a wine bottling plant.

“You waste,” he said slowly, “my time. With trivialities.” He took care to enunciation each syllable, as though trying to illustrate exactly how much of a waste Thaddeus was. “The constabulary will take care of it, and you will leave before I decide that there will be more serious consequences for your pollution in my house.”

Thaddeus’s face felt cold and his stomach hurt. He dropped his gaze. “Yes, M’lord,” he whispered, bowed, and backed out of the room with his head down. When the door threatened to close in his face he straightened and hurried away, not meeting the gazes of the liveried Royal Guards. Likely they thought him as distasteful as a drowned rat.

He found his way back to the great chamber, eager for its warmth to ease the shaking from him. He had a tendency to shake when he was afraid, in body and voice. It was pathetic, really, and Thaddeus wished that he could stop. There was just something about facing down someone like Greymane that made him nervous. He’d suffered the same with the captain of the ship he’d been stuck on as a child. Any gaffer had him shaking, even if they were pleased with him.

Liam was no longer in the chamber, but the platter of food hadn’t yet been cleared away. Thaddeus took a quick look around - alone, for the moment - before leaning over the platter and using both hands to shovel food into his mouth. He chewed noisily, hardly able to handle what he was putting in his mouth. He nearly choked, drank from the juice pitcher, ate three more fistfuls of potatoes and fruit and Light knows what else. He crammed a handful of eggs smothered in sauce into his mouth, finished the juice, wiped his hands on his borrowed coat, and escaped the chamber.

He found a bathroom, tried to clean up a bit more, took another piss, and scurried back out. He was pretty good at skulking, so he'd skulk down to wherever Liam was. It was a learned skill and he’d had many years to perfect it, on and off the ship. He took pride in his skulking.

Only stepping out of the shadows when there were none left large enough to hide him, Thaddeus flashed his insignia a few times to get into the family’s private rooms. “Where is the Prince?” he asked. “I’ve been asked to give him a report.”

The guard he’d spoken too looked him over slowly, with distaste. “D’you need a wash, first?” he asked with a sneer.

“D’you want to tell them that you kept vital information from him on account of my smell?” Thaddeus asked.

“Fine, then. He’s up to the left, under the queen’s room. Don’t piss on the rugs,” the guard said. Thaddeus shrugged off his coat and left it on a nearby chair. “Piss on you,” he muttered angrily. They could deal with the stinking thing.

The viewing room the guard had pointed him to had massive windows facing the sea. It was beautiful, Thaddeus thought, if stupidly wasteful. How much wood did they have to burn to ward off the chill coming from those windows?

He spotted Liam near the lit hearth, facing the windows but far enough that he could avoid the cold they let through. “Liam!” Thaddeus said, perking up as he hurried towards him.

“Thad!” Liam crowed, jumping to his feet to hug Thaddeus like he was a friend. Liam’s thick arms held him tight, and he eagerly returned the embrace. Liam pulled away, keeping Thaddeus close with his hands on his arms. The prince frowned. “You look a little rotten,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” Thaddeus said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” Liam asked. He gestured for Thaddeus to sit, ignoring the sorry state and stink of his clothes. “Alright. Then what’s this about animals in the city?”

“Big animals, if there are more than one,” Thaddeus said, gladly sinking into the cushy armchair next to Liam’s seat. “Not hunting for food, just for sport. Tore out the necks of two sorry saps, left them in plain sight by the canals.”

“So you said. What was it, then? A crocolisk?” Liam asked, then frowned. “No, they’d go for the knees…”

“No, it was something else. I couldn’t get a good look at the bites with the constables breathing on me,” Thaddeus said. “Liam, I think it’s really dangerous.”

Liam looked at him, square in the face, and frowned. “You think it’s still out there?”

“Yeah, and I think it’s a lot worse than it looks now. I think it’s going to keep killing folks.”

“Did you tell my father?”

“He, uh.” Thaddeus paused. “Didn’t seem interested.”

Liam sighed explosively. “He took the piss out of you, didn’t he? The old man’s stubborn and prideful. I’ll talk to him.”

“I don’t think he’ll listen. Look, Liam,” Thaddeus said, and it warmed him when Liam really did look at him. He was always willing to listen to people, hear what they had to say. He was a good man if Thaddeus had ever seen one. “The constabulary’s got the entire city on the lock. I had to brick my own feet to get through the canals without four of ‘em pissing on my head. No one’s got any idea what this is.”

“Do you?” Liam asked.

“I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it. Either they’ve got a rabid mastiff off the leash or some nutter’s gone into magic. Constabulary’s taking a kip on calling in the Service, they’ve just been pulling in soldiers to keep the city clamped.”

“I’ll talk to my father,” Liam promised. “Later, though. You need a shower.” He crinkled his nose, and he was smiling, and he looked so much more welcoming than Greymane with that nasty snarl.

“I think I need an exorcism,” Thaddeus said. Liam was laughing as he pulled Thaddeus to his feet.

“C’mon, you can wash up in my rooms. I’ll nick a soap off Tess, have you smelling like flowers.”

“I’d rather smell like dog piss than whatever it was I swam through.”

Liam laughed so hard he snorted, and Thaddeus couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Liam had such an overbearingly warm presence that it was hard not to. His shaking had eased almost the moment he’d seen Liam. The man had a gift.

Thaddeus had seen Liam’s rooms before. He’d been the prince’s bodyguard for a couple of years when the Service had first taken him in. He was younger than the prince by a few years but close enough that he was unobtrusive, and he had been a skinny little shit when he’d first started. He’d nearly disappeared into the wallpaper until Liam had spotted him on his first week in the Manor, and then it was like he’d always been around. He’d taken to Liam like a fish to water. Who wouldn’t? Liam was thoughtful and kind and unreserved with his boisterous friendliness. It was hard to be in a bad mood around him.

But Thaddeus had never been told he could use the prince’s bathroom. It was opulently decorated, rich in red jasper floors and shiny copper tub and silver mirror and gold accents on the porcelain washbasin. This single room was worth more than all of Thaddeus’ internal organs.

He was momentarily stunned when Liam lit the wall sconces, shaken out of it only when Liam offered to have his clothes exorcised and burned. “I’m sure we’ve got something around that’ll fit you,” Liam laughed. “Harriet will find you something. Go on then, strip off before the stink gets into your skin. I’ll fill the tub.”

To have the Prince of Gilneas offer to fill the tub for him seemed to Thaddeus to be a bewildering reversal of roles, but he wasn’t about to refuse a bath, let alone one scented with crown roses and meadowsweet. Thaddeus hesitated when it came down to his underclothes, but the bath looked so inviting that he hurriedly yanked his smalls off when Liam’s back was turned and stepped into the tub.

The water within was almost too hot to bear, especially after being cold for so long, but he didn’t let that stop him. By the time Liam turned back to the tub, Thaddeus was nearly fully immersed.

Liam only laughed and chucked a handful of his own bath salts into the water. “Enjoy,” he said warmly. “I’m gonna go see if Tess is in her room. If she isn’t, I’ll nick some of her smelly soap for you.”

“Thanks,” Thaddeus said, swirling the water and watching as the little eddies caught rose petals in their path. With Liam gone, he felt free to dunk his head and scrub furiously at his scalp. He could feel dirt and stink prickling at the skin and it bothered him to no end to have canal sand sifting through his hair. He’d been suppressing the urge to scratch since he’d emerged from the water.

Liam returned before long, promised soaps in hands. He winked at Thaddeus conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Tess,” he said, offering a bar of lavender soap and a silver container full of shampoo.

“Bless your heart,” Thaddeus said, reaching for the shampoo. “My scalp itches so much I must have rats living on it.”

Liam made a noise of disgust amidst his laughter. “Better drown them, then.”

Thaddeus, without hesitation, dunked his head violently into the tub, nailing Liam with a generous splash of water. When he looked up, brushing wet hair out of his face, he saw an expression of abysmal dismay on Liam’s face. He looked down.

“Taking the piss, eh?” Thaddeus joked before Liam swore and reached over to forcibly dunk his head into the water. 

He came up spluttering a laughing, and Liam chucked the soap bar at him, hitting his shoulder. It plunked into the water and he fished it out to use it, still chuckling.

“You’re a right tosser,” Liam grumbled. 

“You ain’t a treasure, yourself,” Thaddeus laughed.

He chatted with Liam while he bathed, not at all bothered by having another man in the room. He’d grown up in much more intimate conditions, three men to a bunk in the belly of a ship so squat you had to kneel to get out of the hold. It didn’t occur to him that Liam might have felt differently. He was too distracted by the luxurious feel of the soap. It must’ve had some kind of lotion because it was deliciously smooth on his skin. Or maybe he was too used to scrubbing with wool and lye soap.

“Feel better now?” Liam asked when Thaddeus relaxed against the tub, letting the sea sponge drift away. The copper had warmed and it spread heat through his shoulders and neck.

“Aye, I think I’ve just scrubbed off four years of filth,” Thaddeus replied.

“We’ll have to replace the tub,” Liam said.

“Can I have this one, then?”

“You’re welcome to it, if you can carry it out of the manor without being seen.”

“I could probably manage it. Just tell everyone there’s a worgen in the front yard and make my way out.”

Liam laughed. “Hopefully we’ll never again see one of those monsters in these lands.”

“Hope not.” Thaddeus sighed. “I should probably get back to the city soon. Officers will want as many boots in the street as can get.”

“I’d rather you stay here, where it’s safe,” Liam said.

“Gaffer’ll have my head,” Thaddeus said, sitting up in the tub. “I got a job to do, Liam.”

“I know.” He sighed, and stood to collect a towel from the cupboard.

“Thanks,” Thaddeus said absently, standing slowly so that the water wouldn’t escape the tub all at once.

Liam’s face fell. “Light’s tits, Thad,” he said softly. “What kind of jobs do they have you on?”

Thaddeus looked down. Bruises littered his left side and a recent stab wound was partially healed over his right hip. “It’s not that bad,” he said, reaching out to take the towel from Liam’s hands.

“Not that bad? Look at you! I can count your ribs! Does no one ever feed you?”

“I’ve always been like that,” Thaddeus dismissed.

“Always been-? Thad!” Liam said. “That’s not healthy!”

“I’m fine, though, really,” he insisted. “I eat fine.”

“Once a week?” Liam retorted. “Light, Thad. Come up here more often, I’ll make sure you’re fed right.”

“I’m fine, Liam. Really,” he said again. 

“You did _not_ look like this when you were my guard,” Liam said.

“I’m fine,” Thaddeus said, stepping out of the tub. He used the towel to scrub water from his hair before quickly wiping his arms and chest off. He wrapped it around his waist, ignoring Liam’s harsh frown. “I need to get going. I need to know what’s going on down there.”

“Be careful,” Liam said emphatically. “And come back soon. I need to know you’re safe.”

“I’ll be careful,” Thaddeus promised.

They stood in silence for a moment before Liam started. “Oh, shit!” he laughed. “Clothes!”

“Yeah, it would help.”


End file.
